Free Zeke and Ned by Larry McMurtry

still fluttered like a bird when he came to her, or even when he just looked at her across the table. On occasion, Jewel would go outside and cut firewood when they did not need firewood, in order to calm herself. Even when it got dark, she did not trust the fluttering in her breast, for she felt like she might be getting to love Ned too much. Becca told her it was the things you loved too much that you were sure to lose. Jewel could not stand the thought of losing Ned. Sometimes, deep in the night, when even the woods were silent, she would wake up with the fear that Ned had died. She would put her face against his chest, to feel his heartbeat; but even the feel of his strong heartbeat did not always reassure her, nor did the feel of his warm breath on her cheek. A heartbeat could stop, and breath could cease. Becca, her own mother, had two husbands die, and now Zeke was in trouble—so much trouble that Ned felt he had to take all his guns to town.
    Finally, Ned left off kissing her. He looked once more for the wandering whetstone, but did not find it.
    â€œIf you see that whetstone, put it back where it belongs,” Ned said. He liked things orderly. Everything in the house had a place where it was supposed to be. The churn lid was supposed to be on the churn, the whetstone on the mantel. He hated to go off with a dull knife, butwith the whetstone missing, there was not much he could do about it.
    Jewel went outside and hugged her father. He had the distant look he always got when he was impatient to be someplace. Ned had the look, too: they were off to do men’s business.
    â€œLet’s stop at Tuxie’s, he might want to go,” Ned remarked, once he mounted.
    Jewel wanted to ask when they would be back, but managed to hold her tongue. Ned probably did not know when he would be back, and even if he knew, he would not appreciate being asked. Men did not like to account for themselves that way.
    â€œDon’t let that pig out till we’ve been gone awhile,” Ned instructed, as he was turning to leave. “That pig will follow horses—if it wanders off too far, it might run into a bear and we’d be out our meat.”
    Jewel did as instructed. She sat by the pigpen on an old bucket until the men had been gone long enough to be all the way to Tuxie Miller’s. The pig grunted at her while she sat. It wanted to get out and go looking for acorns; then, when she did let it out, it stood by the back door for an hour, hoping for some slop.
    Right after she finished churning, Jewel found the whetstone. It was under the pallet she had made for her father. Jewel wished there was a way she could let Ned know it had been located.
    But there was no way. He was already gone.

12
    D ALE M ILLER WAS FORCEFUL . T HERE WAS A RIGHT AND A WRONG , and she could tell them apart. Tuxie could not, and in fact, most men could not, which is why it was important that they marry. Single men, in her view, were just a nuisance to the community, for even if they were sober, they usually could not tell right from wrong, and single men were rarely sober anyway.
    She was a white woman, married to a Cherokee man, the daughter of missionaries who had traveled the Trail of Tears with the largest contingent of Cherokees to come up from Georgia and Tennessee. Dale was born in the Cherokee Nation, raised and educated at the missionary school her parents established in the Going Snake District. She set her eye on Tuxie Miller early, though she had demonstrated a brief fascination with Ned Christie, the handsomest man Dale hadever seen. Ned was sweet natured and shy, but strong willed; Dale knew that marriage to a man like Ned would mean a considerable amount of their married life would be spent head-butting. Ned seemed to care for her, but his pride was such that she never really knew where she stood with him. Dale herself was forceful to the point of rudeness, at times, but she was good-hearted and loyal, and her judgment